atlas hands
by lydiamartins
Summary: Savages, savages, nothing more than evil—we must sound the drums of war. -— RomanCentric


notes; so, i've been wanting to write in a lot more different fandoms, and i just finished watching the third episode of star-crossed; this is probably a bit AU but mostly follows the arc of the tv show until the most current episode and goes off from there. i also used the theme of the four different sectors/sections/families throughout; this is also my 100th story so hope you guys like this xx

warnings; there are so many fandom references in here so um i'm sorry

summary: Savages, savages, nothing more than evil—we must sound the drums of war. -— RomanCentric

_atlas hands_

.

Back in the homeland of the Atrians, there are cracks in the wall—

Except they aren't simply cracks in the wall—they're cracks in all of time and space, and then darkness envelops their planet like a blanket, and they have no choice but to run. Roman is his father's son— His father, leader of the Atrians, looks at him with unflinching eyes and commands him to run.

So, like the little soldier he is, Roman obeys. (The Atrians come to Earth seeking refuge, flying across the stars and running from their problems—)

The humans, all of them together, decide that it is an invasion—humans, Roman soon learns, are always on the defensive side, believing the worst in everybody unless they are given reason otherwise; the Atrians look different from the humans, with the bright blue scars running across the sides of their faces, marks upon their hands and x-scars on their stomachs, and are taken into a sector, where they are isolated from the human population.

But Roman is able to run — his feet throb and his head feels faint, but he follows his father's last order;

The girl has curly chestnut hair and kind hazel eyes, and there is something about her that is understanding—

She covers him with sheets of blankets and gives him bowls of sweet foods— _Ice cream, _she murmurs, _I can't believe that you've never ice cream; it's wonderful, really - you have to try it_— and he thinks that she is the wonderful one but stomachs the sweet liquid nonetheless, which leaves a bittersweet taste in the corners of his mouth, and under the covers in the Whitehall's gardening shed, he feels at rest.

The humans find him, in the end, two weeks later—

They point and shoot (and score), and there is a resounding sound as the silver bullet enters his torso, and Roman is slammed backwards against the cabinet, and thinks that life is not a dream.

.

Emery is the only good human he has known of—

She reminds him of a life he could have led, a normal childhood, and ten years later, she is still kind. She invites him into the Whitehall mansion on a Friday—it is wondrous, with silver linings and golden paintings, gilded stairwells and mahogany banisters that drape around the mansion, but it is hollow and empty and it is nothing like what he imagined home must be for a human.

Emery tells him about television—shows him the moving pictures, the stories that enfold; they watch Chuck and Blair and their dysfunctional relationship, but Roman thinks that he prefers the Winchester brothers and their knack for adventure and trouble. It's almost as if their lives are a television show, and he cannot help but remember the looming problem;

He tells her that she had good intentions—because that's what she is, a good girl who does what she believes is right, even if her father and everybody else declares that it's inefficient and only going to get all of them killed—but that good intentions aren't enough in a world like this. _It's bigger than the two of us, _he says, dark circles underlining knowing eyes, and for a moment, a flicker of darkness appears in them, as though he is older than seventeen—he carries the weight of a nation, the weight of all the Atrians upon wobbling shoulders, but he carries them nonetheless.

.

Her father killed his father, and though she is not her father, there is nobody else present at school to blame the situation upon.

Roman does his best to ignore her— but she is there everywhere he goes, but he ignores her and tries to forget.

They are humans; Roman reminds himself that he cannot care for Emery, he must not—

Emotion is weakness, and weakness is associated with these humans, and he is not a human (he comes from a far superior race). Nonetheless, when he stands upon the ledge and peers through the golden shutters into the Meeting of the Elders, who blast their decision across the cavernous crevices of the room—_We are not only to kill those who have wronged us, but also those they care most about_—and _her_ picture is posted upon the screen, there is a slight twinge of guilt within his stomach, muddled under layers of strength.

_She will not die, _he mutters to himself, _her blood will not be on my hands. _Because her father has killed his father, but though he is his father, Emery is not her father.

.

Emery has these small ways of taking his mind of things—

_We may be from two different worlds, but some things, uh, are still the same, _she offers, beaming smile, and for a while, just for a small while, Roman allows for himself to forget about the war and the constant threats. He looks at her and feels the shadow of his father—

Emery is beautiful, with vivacious smiles and bright white teeth and kind eyes; but, he is not the only one who thinks so, and he feels the glare of the human boy, Grayson of the Redhawks, upon him, and remembers that she is not his to keep. She belongs to the human race, she is one of them, and they are from two different worlds, and it still does matter.

She starts a relationship with one of the Redhawks, those despised humans, the worst of them all—

Grayson is his name, something of high popularity in cliques and social standing at Marshall High School; Roman catches Emery sending him fleeting looks, something of longing, and reminds himself that if he had not chosen to separate himself from her—but that is what is best for his people, as these violent delights are too often to have violent ends, and it is his duty to do what is best for the Atrians—she would not be with him. But those are fanciful dreams and thoughts brushed away into the crevices of his mind, and he has the war to ponder over.

.

At night, he dreams of war—

Roman dreams of the glory, of avenging his father's death, of avenging all the Atrians that have already been killed because of supposed acts of rebellions against the humans and dreams of brighter days—brighter days where thy will be the ones in control of the petty humans, be able to have the power over them and watch them squirm in fear; his drive clouds his judgment.

He does not care, however; the humans will pay for all they have done. They will pay.

.

He stands over his father's grave three days later—

Sophia lets out a cry, and burrows her face into his shoulder, drawing back suddenly as if stung, and falls to the floor, weeping—Roman is the polar opposite of her, and does not let his emotions control him, but as he brushes a reassuring hand across his father's lifeless corpse, draped over with a white plain sheet and thousands of flowers from the Atrian people, mourning their leader; _We must take some action, Roman, _Castor tells him one day. _These humans, they will not stop until all of us are killed._

_They're not all like that, _Roman replies back sharply—there is one good human that he knows of, that's stood up for the Atrians countless times, but that was in the past, and this is the bittersweet present, but the past, present, and future all mix together until he does not know of the difference between them, because for all of time, the Atrians and the humans have been in disputes with one another, they still are, they always will be until the other is abolished. One may not live while the other survives.

_Are you in love with her yet? _He shakes his head, because no, love is something that comes with time—he's grown a fondness for her, maybe a liking of some sorts, but Roman is not in love with a Whitehall. _Good, then your judgement won't be clouded by your heart. Listen to me, Roman, your father would have wanted you to take revenge, to do what is best for your people. They are your people, now, remember that. If you don't take action, they will. Against you._

_._

That night, he calls together the Atrians in the sector—

They talk of words of revolution against the humans, assemble their weapons; they know their enemies and plan out courses upon the human land, plans to demolish the buildings, plans to kill all the Redhawks first, because they are the most cruel of them all, but all the humans are evil—there is one human, Roman keeps on thinking of, who he knows is good, but the rest are corrupt, and he cannot sacrifice an entire nation for one girl. _This is utilitarianism, common sense, _Castor (more of a mentor now, then anything else) instructs him, _you cannot value one life over the lives of five thousand subjects. _

(The Redhawks, with their cruel motives, know that they must stick together—they are soldiers of winter, and winter is coming, and this is their time to exact their revenge upon the intruders.

The Trags, with their selfish motives, know that they must separate—divide and conquer, that's the motto of the Trags—and they will do what they think is right, but this violent passions will have violent ends.

The Whitehalls, nothing more than simple humans, know that they must do what is best for humankind—they represent a small fragmented society, but is more than that, and the lives of seven billion humans rest on their shoulders.

The Atrians, who will never stop being brave, have been restrained—slaves in what should be their rightful kingdom, no less—are tired of being bound with chains, soldiers and human guards watching them from the sidelines; their time has come, the time of war.)

_I'm not planning on it, _Roman stiffly replies; the crowd cheers, but he does not feel like a King. Terry presses her lips to his in the dark of the night, underneath the sheets, and he feels numb—_she is one of your kind,_ Castor tells him, _you can be with one of your own kind, you need the alliance with her family to defeat the humans. _Kings are meant to be strong, able to support themselves without alliances and help; he is not a King, but he kisses her back because she has the resources to defeat them all, and that is all that matters.

(By the fifteenth of December, six months since Arrival Day, he has amassed four thousand Atrians—they will take their revenge.)

.

(Savages, savages, nothing more than evil—we must sound the drums of war.)

The drums of war echo within his ears; this is what he is prepared for, since a child, his throbbing feet and aching legs carrying the weight of a thousand people, and musters the courage (stupidity) to move forwards, because he cannot afford to make mistakes.

_Humans, _he announces loudly, his voice echoing around the cavernous Town Hall; the humans turn towards him, and he can already see the divisions between them (the Redhawks, and the Whitehalls, and all the other families in between and knows that a house apart cannot stand strong, and imagines them falling, and smiles at the sick pleasure it gives him). _I know that you've all been waiting for this moment to happen—for one of us to make a fatal mistake, to kill one of your leaders, one of your children, but I'll just save you the time and declare war on you already._

The leader of the Redhawks, a gangly man who hides behind silver bullets and technology lets out a short laugh. _You have barely four thousand men in your army—we have seven billion people on this planet. You're outnumbered, sonny; you might as well give up now, while you still can._

Roman is the leader of the Atrians, and the fight is in his blood. _You might have a far vaster force, but we have defined much greater an enemy than you. _

He is the first one to pull the trigger, and then the town explodes into a world of bloodshed—

.

Roman calls together the Atrians at the end of the day.

There are barely two thousand of them left, and around five hundred or so have fatal gun wounds that no cyper tree can heal; he lays his hand upon the children he passes, absorbing small amounts of their pain, but he knows it is not enough. _We can't keep on doing this, _he acknowledges to Castor. _We can't keep fighting the humans - it's a fruitless war, and we're all going to get ourselves killed._

_Roman, you can't stop now, _Castor urges him on, as they pass the Atrians with disgusted looks and haunted faces. _These people are willing to lay down their lives to kill the humans; each and every one of them is proud to be an Atrian, and will fight the humans until their end._

_I can't have all of them killed because of me; you don't understand, Castor. _

_What would your father have wanted? _Castor falls into a quick pace with him as they walk around the perimeter of the Atrian camp; toy soldiers play with their sharpened swords, awkwardly jabbing them into the fire; these are not experienced soldiers, Roman thinks, they are soldiers of summer, and winter is coming, and winter will destroy them all.

_Oh, don't play the 'what would your father have wanted' card again, Castor; my father would have wanted what's best for the people, and having all of them killed in bloodlust is not what he would have wanted._

_You're still going to follow my orders; you're just a boy, Roman,_ Castor says with the bloodlust in his eye; remember who your real enemies are, his father had told him, and Roman knows now that the humans are not the only enemy that he must face; the true enemies are the people who you trust most, the ones that turn on you during the darkest of the days.

.

He is the last of the Atrians, now—

Roman throws up his hands in surrender, and is suddenly small; the weight of a thousand people fall off of his shoulders, and pull him under, the darkness covering him like the thick blankets Emery used to give him, and he is at rest.

.

notes: 100 STORIES I AM DONE i am overexcited about this


End file.
